Page 104 of Snowballed

“For us to get back together. Or is it too late?”

He puts his hands on my shoulders. His touch on me is warm and electrifying. “The best thing about us slow movers is that we don’t do well with change.”

Is he saying yes? I’m on the cliff’s edge of hope.

“Zoe, it’s not all on you. I’ve done a lot of thinking too. I realize that I need to show you how I feel. I never did enough of that when we were together.”

“Like this, you mean?” I motion to the banner with my head.

He nods. “Yes, like that. And like this.”

He tilts his head to mine and kisses me. His mouth is both familiar and new because I’ve missed him so much. I kiss him back with all the desperation I’ve been feeling while we were apart. Now his strong arms wrap around me, and I feel dizzy with joy. We’re back together!

Noah stops and puts his forehead against mine.

“I love you, Zoe Meyers,” he says.

“I love you, too.” I barely get the words out because I’m almost overcome with how beautiful my life is now.

He kisses me again, and I allow myself to relax into the bliss of being back with Noah.

When we’re finally finished, I hug Noah and let out a sigh of happiness.

“If you loved me before, wait until you get to know the new and improved Zoe,” I say.

“Oh, I love all the Zoes,” Noah declares.

Maaaaa.

We turn and realize we have an audience. Since I never filled the feed stand outside, all the goats have comebaaackto complain. But they were nice enough to stay quiet until we had our romantic reunion, because they love their singing goatherd as much as I do.

Epilogue

Noah

“It’s nine degrees out here. You are fucking nuts,” Wags says to me.

“Could be,” I agree. “Make sure you get good video of this, so I can send it to Zoe.”

He shakes his head. “The things you do for love are insane.”

This from a man who jumped through multiple hoops just to get a first date with Marie Josée Laroque?

Today is the infamous Burlington Penguin Plunge. It’s held on the first Saturday in February, and crazy plungers dive into the icy waters of Lake Champlain. I’ve convinced half my teammates to do this with me, although Coach Keller told me that if we all get pneumonia and blow the season, it’s on me. But deep down, he approves. We’re raising money for the Special Olympics, and he likes the team to have a good relationship with our community. People wear costumes to do this, and we’re dressed as Burlington Bulls with bull horn headgear and green team T-shirts.

Groups go in one by one, and we huddle together at the top of the boat launch. We’ll shed our coats at the last moment.

“Holy shit. They cut away the ice so we could do this. There’s a foot of ice on top of this lake,” Briggs points to the jagged white layers.

“You’re from Vermont. You should be used to the cold,” I say.

“I’ve never gone swimming in the winter. Ice is nature’s way of saying stay the hell out of the water,” Briggs replies.

I point at myself. “This body is California-made. Normally I don’t go in the ocean if it’s below 65.”

Meysy comes over. He’s got his bull horns on, and he’s already shirtless. Moo U is written on his chest in Sharpie. “Told you guys: liquid breakfast is the way to go. I’m feeling no pain right now.” His breath reeks of beer.

“You’ll be feeling pain if Coach finds out you were drinking before tonight’s game,” I say.

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